Salad Day
by Complicity
Summary: 1000 words of fluff. One Shot. (I blame the weather.)


**A/N. Shameless fluff! Dedicated to the hilarious toddler in the park the other day, who like, OWNED her Dad.**

**Salad Day.**

Two figures sit companionably on a bench, overlooking a grand expanse of summertime park play. Families and friends and picnicers and smokers and lunchtimers all mingle together and overlap in a rare kind of harmony. It's an onslaught of civility brought on by the baking heat and the desperation for escapism.

"Ugh. I need an ice bath." Jac moans from beneath a wide brimmed summer hat.

"Or a water slide." Sacha contemplates more inventively, concentrating on a chocolate ice cream that's melting faster than his tongue can control it. She snorts in response, suddenly flooded by the image of her friend lathered in fairy liquid and sliding around on a blue tarpaulin.

"I think you'd be better off avoiding the lubricants, Levy."

"You think?" He asks, a genuine hint of longing in his voice.

"Yes. That delightful image of your oiled up physique is cooling certain parts of me down quite nicely though, thanks."

"Oh Naylor," he continues in mock horror, "not in front of the children!" She swats him playfully as he gestures out towards the three figures who are running around on the grass, burning off a sugar rush. She eyes the scene and smiles serenely, but it's short lived. A minute long tactical analysis of the game sets her features into a frown, and she voices her disapproval.

"Jonny!" He's deaf to her as Daniel, grinning from ear to ear, shoots a football at his chest and he bends over backwards to deflect it into the sky. He lets it bounce neatly over his shoulder then off each of his heels in turn before kicking it back towards the 7 year old who waits eagerly to receive it, already planning his next attack. Emma, the fire haired toddler to Jonny's right, is becoming increasingly infuriated with every pass between the two boys.

"Ball!" She repeats for the umpteenth time, running towards it and, of course, being outflanked by Daniel.

"It's here, Em." Jonny has a tennis ball in his right hand, and he gently passes it over to Emma who, for a three year old, does a good job of looking like she's being patronised.

"Fooh-ball!" She demands, and Jonny ruffles her hair before bouncing the tennis ball for her again, and diving in her path to deflect Daniel's next kick.

"Did he sleep through feminism?" Jac comments wryly, to a chuckling Sacha. "Jonny!" She reiterates more forcefully. He looks up at her, breathless, wide eyed, oblivious to her objection.

"What?"

"Let her play too!" She gestures towards Emma, and hopes her turn as bossy bitch of the school gates isn't being overheard by too many nearby strangers. Jonny is no less confused.

"I am!" He protests, picking up the tennis ball and once more throwing it towards his daughter. He turns back to his game, receiving passes from each child in turn, and Sacha feels Jac bristle beside him.

"Uh oh." He comments under his breath, still amused. "Watch out, Maconie." Jac dithers for a moment, recrossing her legs a couple of times and considering her next move. Ice cream slides freely over Sacha's hand as he watches her thought process with baited breath. Then, she hands him her oversized hat and leaps up boldly as Jonny's back is turned.

"Okay buddy, give me everything you've got!" Jonny is poised, waiting for Daniel's next kick, and Emma has abandoned the tennis ball completely as she eyes her approaching mother with curiosity. Daniel gives the ball a satisfying whump, and Jonny is shoulder barged forcefully off balance by Jac. "Eh? Referee!" He exclaims as he stumbles, throwing his arms up in the air and looking hard done by. Jac claims an expert and, shoving aside, above board control of the ball, then demonstrates her own footwork skills to Jonny's bemusement. Sacha hoots with laughter from the bench, and Jac raises a challenging eyebrow at him. "Right." He announces, hopping back in to tackle her gently, because she's still a girl really, and becoming further irked as she evades his advances with ease. She even grins at him, the wicked triumph of somebody who grew up playing with boys and where there are no parents there's no love lost either. She's rolled her eyes at him before, when he's harked on about the trials of a dodgy estate in Leith in the 80's, and now she's enjoying having him flummoxed.

"Come on then, buddy," she mocks mercilessly, "give me everything you've got!" He glares at her, and he hears Emma's light little giggle from some way behind him, before he clenches his fists and charges towards Jac with a stoic determination. He hears her gasp as he approaches, and he hears Sacha call his name urgently from the bench as if a veil of panic has settled over the previously laid back scene. There's a tangle of limbs and red hair, he's not sure where the ball is or which way is up anymore, then a very definite thump of agony as he lands flat on his back on the grass with his eyes closed. He groans in displeasure and opens them slowly to, somewhat inevitably, see her standing over him with wide eyes.

"You bloody idiot!" She squeaks, one hand over her mouth, breathless and shocked, but still laughing at him. "You were going to flatten me!" She's grinning as she tells him this, which puts his nose out of joint. He groans again for sympathy.

"I thought you were going to flatten her." Sacha weighs in again with sincerity, his eyes fixed on the pair in awe or horror. Jac snorts at her friend's comment and tries to stop smiling at Jonny's embarrassment, which has increased now that Emma is holding onto her Mum's jeans and peering down at him curiously whilst Daniel chases the football. As life lessons for his daughter go, he's not sure he can chalk this one down as a success. He moans for a third time with increasing theatrics and Jac folds her arms and narrows her eyes. "Is he alright?" Sacha calls again from the bench, sounding concerned.

"Oh, my back. Ow. Help me up." He whines and she rolls her eyes at him.

"What do you think, then, Em? Does your father deserve any help?" Jac scoffs half heartedly as she reaches down to hold his hands, then yelps is surprise as he tugs her swiftly down with him. Emma giggles gleefully as Jac protests, squirming out of his grasp and flopping onto the grass next to him with a few muffled 'get off's. He rolls over and pins her down by the wrists. She has fire in her eyes and only narrowly restrains from her childhood instinct to spit in his eyes or jam a knee into his manhood; Apparently they've both grown up playing dirty. He looks like he's going to demand that she surrender, but thinks better of it when he has the same instinct about his manhood, so he releases her wrists and sits on her waist instead. "Get off me, you idiot!" She tries again, failing to mask her giggles with sincerity.

"One thing you've yet to learn about football, Naylor." He announces proudly, considering his masculinity regained as she fails to wriggle out from under him. "Never trust a bloke who's on the floor."

"Fooh-ball!" Emma repeats, wide eyed and excited.


End file.
